


just hold my hand (that's all i need)

by BlackBlood1872



Series: here and now [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Asexual Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Holding Hands, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, No Fear Entities (The Magnus Archives), POV Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBlood1872/pseuds/BlackBlood1872
Summary: Martin doesn't know when he falls in love.It sneaks up on him, silent and ever-growing, until one day he's listening to Jon rant about cats and obligate carnivores and he thinks, exasperated and fond:this is the man you love, really?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: here and now [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942327
Comments: 8
Kudos: 136





	just hold my hand (that's all i need)

**Author's Note:**

> Notes about the tags—  
> Hopeful ending: they're not technically lovers and there's also technically no getting together, so the pedantic in me won't let me use those tags. But it is a positive outcome, even if Jon hasn't learned how to use his words yet.  
> 3 AU tags: I only knew about the "no powers" one when I posted the previous fic, but all of these apply and I want people to be able to find this.
> 
> This is a little bit sad but very sappy overall. Enjoy.

Martin doesn’t know when he falls in love with Jon. It sneaks up on him, silent and ever-growing, until one day he’s over at Jon’s apartment, listening to Jon rant about cats and how they’re obligate carnivores and how that’s different from other types of carnivores. He sits in the chair adjacent Jon’s spot on the couch, chin in hand and warm to his bones. There’s a helpless smile on his lips as he thinks, exasperated and fond: _this is the man you love, really?_

He freezes. He… loves Jon. When did this happen? How long has he felt this way, for the word to so easily slip into his thoughts? It feels as natural as breathing, loving Jon, and Martin can’t figure out when in the last seven months that happened. When he went from thinking of Jon as his best friend to thinking of him as the man he’s fallen in love with.

He didn’t always love Jon, because there was a time when they barely knew each other. Strangers in a café, met only because their friends knew they had something in common. Martin knows he hasn’t loved him from the start, but it feels like he has. It feels like it was inevitable. Of course he’s in love with Jon. How could he be anything but?

“—artin?”

“Hm?” Martin looks up to see Jon staring at him, brows furrowed over sharp eyes. It’s almost identical to the look he gets when something’s out of place, when he’s frustrated by a puzzle he can’t solve, but Martin knows the difference. Martin knows him.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, worry coating his words.

“I’m fine,” Martin says, and hopes his smile is reassuring. He can’t tell him. Martin loves him, and he won’t say it, won’t chance losing him over this. He can’t watch as Jon takes his confession and lets him down easy, as he pulls away from their friendship. As he distances himself to protect himself from the expectations hidden behind _love_ , all the things he can’t give. Never mind that Martin doesn’t want any of that, hasn’t even thought about it. There are other things besides messy physicality hidden in the realm of love that friends don’t do with each other.

This love will never go away, Martin knows. But he can keep it platonic, if that’s the only way to keep Jon in his life. It’s fine. He’s fine.

Jon narrows his eyes, something like hurt flashing in their depths before he carefully packs it away. “You’re not,” he says slowly, confident in that even if he doesn’t know why. “You’re upset. Did—did I say something—”

“No! No, Jon, I’m—I’m not upset.” He is, a bit. He’s upset with himself for catching feelings. For taking this perfectly good friendship and ruining it. It hasn’t broken yet, but he can feel it slipping away with every word spoken and left unsaid, every second that he sidesteps the truth.

Jon bridges the space between them and lays his hand over Martin’s. “Tell me?” he whispers, pleading. “Please.”

He can’t tell him. But when Jon looks at him like that, eyes clear and bright and helpless in the face of this problem he can’t find the solution to, what else _can_ he do?

Jon is like a dog with a bone, relentless, gnawing and gnawing until he finally breaks through to marrow. He might drop this, now, if Martin asks. But he’ll keep coming back until he gets an answer. The truth, eventually, always. Wouldn’t it be better to just tell him now?

 _I don’t want to ruin this_ , he thinks. Their friendship is the best relationship he’s ever had, and he doesn’t want to lose that. He can’t lose Jon.

 _Maybe you won’t_ , the hopeful thought sneaks in. They’re friends, have known each other for months now. They get along, and even if Jon doesn’t feel the same, there’s no reason to think he’ll abandon what they have, now, just because Martin can’t control who his heart decides to latch onto.

 _Maybe you have a chance_ , that thought continues, and Martin looks down to where their hands are touching, lips twisting into a grimace. How could _he_ ever have a chance with _Jon_? Besides the obvious, that neither of them have any real desire to engage in the messier parts of a relationship, Martin isn’t even sure Jon would like him like that.

A memory, unbidden. A day like this one, spent lazing about Jon’s flat, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company. Martin can’t remember how the conversation started, but he remembers mentioning that he always gravitated towards men, when he thought about what sort of partner he would like. Jon had hummed, thoughtful like he usually is, and remarked that he didn’t have a preference. He’s dated both before, dated some who didn’t fit into either binary role.

Martin might have a chance.

_What do you have to lose?_

Martin looks up again, looks at his best friend who waits patiently for him to sort his thoughts, and thinks: _everything_.

There’s one thing about this revelation that Martin can feel happy about: he’s sure, now, that he is asexual rather than anything else. He loves Jon. He loves him with an intensity that should scare him but only feels _right_. He wants to turn his hand over and thread their fingers together, wants to sit close and feel the heat of his body against his side. He wants to hug him and hold on tight, heedless of any time limits.

And never once does he wonder, or long to know, what Jon looks like under his clothes.

It feels silly, that _that’s_ the thing that really convinces him. But he’s read novels and seen the romcoms, listened to Tim go on _and on_ about it, and it always seems to come back to that desire. How the first step is always seeing someone and thinking: _I want to see more_. It leads to dates, the standard list of _first date, kiss, third date, sex_ , feelings growing as time goes on.

Martin doesn’t understand it. He’s never made it past a second date because he’s never wanted anything that came after. He goes about it all backwards, forgets half the steps, and no one’s ever liked him enough to reach a middle ground. Before, he thought that if he only took the _time_ to get their relationship to the same level, everything would slot into place. He just moves on a different track. Eventually, the two have to meet.

Now, he thinks that it’s alright if they don’t. He doesn’t need to change tracks just to fit into the mold society has made for him. He can make his own. He has.

His heart still beats in his throat, suffocating, at the thought of saying any of this to Jon. _The mortifying ordeal of being known_ , he remembers reading once. He hadn’t been able to handle the second-hand embarrassment of it. He can’t imagine _first-hand_ will be any easier.

But Jon wants to know. He sees that something has upset his friend, and he wants to fix it. That care is something Martin loves about him, something he’ll always treasure, even if this breaks them apart.

Martin takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He can at least have the confidence to look Jon in the eye, drinking in the sight of him. If he loses this, he wants to have looked at him as much as he could. To remember him as clear as possible.

“I love you,” he confesses.

Jon’s eyes widen, lips parting as he inhales, surprised. Martin watches, terrified and tentatively hopeful, as his cheeks colour. “Oh,” Jon says, and ducks his head. His free hand goes to the back of his skull, fingers tangling in the loose bun he sports. Stray stands frame his face but do little to hide the growing blush on his cheeks or the twitching smile on his lips. He squeezes Martin’s hand, wordless, and rubs his thumb over his knuckles.

 _Maybe you have a chance_ , hope whispers again. This time, Martin doesn’t push it away.

He turns his hand over, and when their fingers slot together, he thinks: _maybe I do_.


End file.
